


Stay With Me Tonight

by IncandescentAntelope



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Birthday Smut, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Edgeplay, Fluff, Ice Skating, M/M, Smut, Viktor is a doofus but he’s a good boyfriend, soft dom Victor Nikiforov, takes place between episodes 9 and 10, the Stammi Vicino Duet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:20:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29656077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncandescentAntelope/pseuds/IncandescentAntelope
Summary: It’s Yuuri’s birthday and the Grand Prix Final looms nearer; Viktor proposes an idea.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 24
Kudos: 141





	Stay With Me Tonight

“One more, Yuuri.” Viktor breathed into his hair, holding Yuuri’s waist with one hand and a half-full water bottle in the other. “Just one more and we’ll head home.” Yuuri’s chest heaved, his sweat-damp skin radiated heat. The Final was soon enough to make him queasy with nerves, the anxiety climbing higher and higher as the days went on.

Sleep was difficult to find, the few hours he managed were full of nightmares and worst-case scenarios; more often than not, he made use of the key Yuuko had given him to use in good faith that he wouldn’t do precisely what he was doing. Skating alone. 

Viktor had found him committing said sin that morning, when he arrived early for his own practice. He wasn’t angry, no Yakov-esque tantrums were thrown. Viktor wasn’t that kind of coach and he never would be. But Viktor did walk him home and put him under house arrest until noon. 

“Viktor,” Yuuri huffed in retort, still feeling the nerves buzzing under his skin. “We can’t be done now. I’m not ready.” They had spent so long perfecting his routines, sharpening his programs down to a razor-sharp point, but the unease still sat heavy in the pit of his stomach. “Rostelecom was a mess, I completely ruined the free.”

Viktor’s lips turned down, his brows furrowed. “Ruined? No.” He argued, handing him his water. “There was more at play in Moscow than just your skating, and we both know it.” 

Yuuri flinched, knowing how difficult the separation had been for Viktor too, how he had felt, sitting with Mari in the lobby of the emergency vet clinic. The two spent most of that weekend glued to their phones, trying to close the seven thousand kilometer distance between them. 

“Sorry.” Yuuri apologized, his heart in his throat. “I… sorry.” Any explanation, any excuse faded just as quick as the words had come. The self-deprecation was second nature by now, easy as breathing. Viktor blew out a long breath and pressed a kiss to his sweaty forehead. The thought made Yuuri squirm away, writhing in Viktor’s grip. “Don’t, I’m gross.”

Viktor laughed and pulled away, conceding to Yuuri’s request. “I don’t think you’re gross. On the contrary, I think you’re very attractive like this.” 

“Sweaty and tired?” Yuuri snorted, downing the last of his bottle and setting it on the barrier beside Viktor’s plush tissue box.

“Mmm,” Viktor hummed, taking Yuuri’s gloved hand and pulling him out onto the ice. “Warm and flushed, like you’ve spent the entire day making music with your body.” A chill ran down the length of Yuuri’s spine and Viktor smiled, guiding him through a simple variation of his Stammi skate. “Like you’re working hard. Like you’re a world-class athlete carving your mark into history.”

“Flatterer.” Yuuri remarked under his breath, moving in rhyming harmony with Viktor’s body. He had committed so much of this skate to memory; adjusting it for a pair skate was as easy as breathing. 

“You assume my praise is mere flattery, Yuuri.” Viktor’s smile was warm and tender, his eyes full of wonder, full of the kind of joy Yuuri hadn’t seen in photoshoots or magazine covers. “No, I mean every word of it. No terms or conditions.”

Yuuri felt his heart shudder in his chest as they moved through mirrored step sequences together, matched spins that met with glancing fingertips. Yuuri saw up close what he had only seen from the barriers before, through TV screens and on live streams. He could see the effort it required. He could see the strain in Viktor’s thighs, painted on his features. The golden god was just as human as Yuuri, just as tired, just as sore. 

Here, in their dance together, they were matched, they were equals. Skating on the same ice as the other, dancing in circles around each other in matched tempo. Yuuri hummed the tune of the aria as they skated, the dull scraping of blades under their feet merely an underscore to the sound of their heavy breath. 

_ Stammi vicino, non te ne andare _ . Stay by my side, do not leave. How apt, in retrospect. Yuuri had never wanted to keep someone like this before, had never wanted to be held, to hold, another more than Viktor. He had known of Viktor before, but now that he knew Viktor, he never wanted to be without him. 

He hadn’t known love before Viktor. But now, he would never give it away. He hoped there was a chance that Viktor would stay with him after Barcelona, after Yuuri retired… he was selfish, but not selfish enough to continue ruining Viktor’s career for it. 

For now, he had Viktor in his arms, could feel his skin under his touch, could laugh with him, could eat with him, drink with him. For now. 

Their spontaneous duetto ended and Viktor wrapped Yuuri up in a tight hug, his smile brighter than any Yuuri had seen before. There was a shimmer in his eye, the telltale sign that a spark of inspiration had ignited in his heart. Yuuri loved that sight, his bright blue eyes looked brighter, more vibrant, when he had an idea. 

“Yuuri, have you thought about an exhibition skate for the final?” Viktor asked softly, running his fingertips down the centerline of Yuuri’s stomach, as if eyeing him for a costume fitting. “Your current one is lovely, and you looked incredible at the Cup of China. But… I…”

Yuuri swallowed thickly, seeing what Viktor was aiming for. “Viktor… you want to pair skate with me?” he asked tentatively, as if the question would be too much to bear. “The Stammi Vicino skate?”

Viktor’s eyes were bright and moony, blue as the summer sky; the sight of him was almost too much to bear. “Is it selfish of me to ask?” Yuuri felt like his heart might fall out of his chest at the sight of Viktor looking up at him so earnestly. “To ask that you’d share your spotlight with me?”

Yuuri bit the inside of his cheek, swallowing the thoughts he had been attempting to ignore. It would be a wonderful end to his career, at the very least. 

“There isn’t anyone I’d rather share it with.” Viktor spun him in a wide circle, nearly throwing him on his ass in the middle of the rink. “Careful, Vitya, I might break a hip before the final,” Yuuri laughed, though the thought had certainly haunted his dreams as of late. 

“Alright, alright. No broken hips.” Viktor conceded with a wide-mouthed smile, “I’ll call my costumer. I’m sure she can put something together for you.”

The hesitation faded away, ice in his veins melting with the warmth of Viktor’s touch. Yuuri let himself melt with it, sinking deeper into the embrace Viktor was offering. At least for now, he could savor the touch, savor the feeling of Viktor’s pride as his coach. Viktor’s lips were soft when they pressed against his forehead, and he didn’t squirm away.

“I want to see you skate the free one more time.” Viktor’s voice was soft, awed, in that way it was in the Kiss and Cry, low and sweet, like it was in the hazy afterglow of hushed, late night lovemaking. “And after that, we’ll go home.”

“Okay.” Yuuri breathed, pulling out of Viktor’s arms and taking his opening mark as Viktor returned to the barrier, playing that familiar arpeggio through a decades-old stereo; the sound was tinny and echoed oddly across the ice, but Yuuri let it envelop him, wrapping around him like a cloak made just for him. 

Ketty had done an amazing job reworking the piece, suiting it perfectly to Yuuri’s theme. Every time he listened, it felt new and exciting, revealing different rhythms and melodies every time he moved through the choreography. Viktor was there with him, dancing through the elements as he had crafted them for Yuuri. Viktor’s hands, his mind, his heart, was there on the ice with him, and Yuuri moved through every step of it with the weight of Viktor’s eyes trained on him. 

Even if Barcelona would be his last, he wanted it to end with gold. 

Viktor’s eyes glistened in the low light of the rink, and he met Yuuri at the center as the music faded. Tears sparkled in Viktor’s lashes like dew caught in spider’s silk, and Yuuri reached out to swipe them away with a gloved hand. Viktor leaned into his hand with a sigh, a tender smile on his lips.

“Beautiful.” Viktor breathed softly, and the praise landed like cannonfire in Yuuri’s chest. “Perfect, wonderful.”

“Viktor-” Yuuri attempted to argue, but the way Viktor’s lip stuck out in a childlike pout squashed any complaint. “Thank you.” he conceded and chased Viktor’s pout away with a kiss. “Can we go home now?”

“ _ Da _ , let’s go home.” Viktor nodded, lacing his fingers with Yuuri’s and guiding him off the ice. 

The inn was quiet when they arrived, and graciously it had been slow in the last few weeks. Yuuri’s anxiety spiked when there were too many people around to ask questions and get too close. The guest dining room was quiet as they passed, the TV on the wall droning a banal news report. Viktor stayed close to his side, his arm strong and sure around his waist. 

Viktor was so touchy, getting comfortable with the constant physical contact had been draining in those first few months. But as things bloomed and grew, so did Yuuri’s own need for physical comfort. It was a grounding thing, Viktor’s arms around him. That was something he had unfortunately learned the hard way after Rostelecom, chasing down any physical touch he could find. 

_ I hope you never retire.  _

Viktor’s words rang in his memory as if he had spoken them in that moment. Was that true? Could it be? Viktor didn’t want him to retire. But surely he hadn’t thought that through.  Viktor walked him through the guest areas and through the kitchen to the Katsuki’s private dining room, the lights dimmer than usual. 

“Can’t I shower first?” Yuuri asked, sounding much more grumbly than he intended. 

“You can shower after we have cake.” Viktor said, his voice dripping with mirth. The warmth of his arm receded from around his back and a lighter flickered to life, lighting candles one by one. 

“Cake?” Yuuri asked, the point still flying far over his head. His mother’s laugh reached his ear through the dark, and as twenty-four candles burned brighter, he saw the faces of his family, Viktor among them and Makkachin too. 

“Happy birthday, Yuuri,” they said in unison, his family launching into an out-of-tune rendition of the birthday song as Viktor smiled and sang along in English. The tears came before Yuuri realized it; he’d forgotten his own birthday. He had been so wrapped up in the final, in perfecting his skates, in the pursuit of gold, he had forgotten. 

He had done this before, in Detroit, with Phichit, but his roommate didn’t let him forget longer than it took to say good morning. Yuuri was an ugly crier, and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop once it started. Viktor brought him the cake and he blew them out with a messy, overwhelmed sigh. 

“Happy birthday,  _ lyubov moya _ .” Viktor whispered into his hair, kissing his temple and setting the cake down on the table. “Let’s cut it and have a soak after?”

The words caught in Yuuri’s throat so he simply nodded, tears continually sliding down his cheeks as he ate the same cake they always did for his birthday— a very not diet-approved cherry chocolate fudge confection of his mother’s creation. 

Laughs were bright and abounding that night as Viktor gushed about his progress. His parents had never been the most in-touch with the minutiae of scoring, but they had supported him with love all the while, and oohed and ahhed over Viktor’s praise. 

“His triple axel is looking flawless, and his quad sal too! Yurio taught him that one, you two were so sneaky!” Viktor cooed as Yuuri finished his cake, the tears finally slowing. The anxiety was still there, but it had quieted, a low hum in the background instead of the roar of a jet engine. Viktor’s touch was an ever-present warmth, the long line of his body pressed to Yuuri’s side, his hand gently on Yuuri’s thigh.

“ _ Okaasan _ , can we take dinner after a soak?” Viktor asked, the sound of his voice muted in Yuuri’s ears, exhaustion beginning to set in. “Someone’s sleepy.” Yuuri blinked slowly and he was walking again, Viktor leading him through the inn to the showers. He lavished in the attention Viktor gave him, smoothing a bar of soap over his back and his arms, gently washing every trace of sweat away. 

Yuuri floated through the rest of the evening, soaking with Viktor and eating his second favorite meal, hearty tonkotsu ramen. Katsudon was still only for winning, Yuuri wasn’t about to break his tradition; he couldn’t lose one of his rewards, though winning the Final had more rewards than katsudon. 

When the night ended, Viktor cajoled him into opening the gifts he had bought for him in Moscow, including a huge furry hat that was nearly as large as his head. (“It’s called an уша́нка, Yuuri!”). The anxiety had begun building again, pulling him into his own mind, swirling and dark and loud. 

He dismissed himself after dinner, a tension headache growing behind his eyes. It was too much, too loud. His breaths came too fast, his chest began to ache with it. Sleep refused to come, taunting him in short, fitful minutes of rest haunted by messy fears and horrible outcomes.

He threw back his comforter in frustration, choking on unshed tears. 

He wasn't ready. 

Impulse pushed him out of bed and into a well-worn pair of sweatpants and an old hoodie and he slipped out into the hallway silently, his heart in his throat. He wasn't ready, he needed more practice. He would lose again and make a fool of himself, humiliating Viktor before he had even had the chance to return to the ice.

He passed Viktor's room, where a single lamp was shining through the paper walls; he had expected Viktor to be long asleep. 

"Yuuri?" Viktor's voice floated into the hall softly, freezing him to the floor. "Yuuri, are you trying to sneak out?" 

Yuuri could barely squeak out an admission of his guilt, so he slid the door open instead, finding Viktor reclined in bed with his laptop blindingly bright in his face. There was a knowing smile on his lips, tilting up in one corner. It was unfairly attractive, really. 

“Viktor.” Yuuri whispered, expecting Viktor to be asleep. But he sat up in bed, and so did Makkachin. “I… I’m sorry, I just.”

“Can’t sleep?” Viktor asked, “Me either, come cuddle me.” Yuuri flushed, but stepped into Viktor’s converted banquet room and slid the door shut. “Stay with me tonight?”

Yuuri nodded, sliding in where Viktor held up the duvet. It was warm with Viktor’s body heat, warm like the onsen after a long day. Viktor closed the lid of his laptop and set it aside, flicking out the light and cuddling in, wrapping himself around Yuuri with a relieved sigh.

Yuuri's eyelids fell shut, refusing to stay open as he rolled into Viktor’s side. The day, the week, the weight of competition finally caught up to him, his legs and core ached in that warm, pleasantly painful way that Yuuri savored. Viktor sighed as Yuuri moved in closer, kissing his forehead and pulling him closer.

Viktor’s long fingers were dancing along Yuuri’s arm; he did that often, tracing the outlines of routines into his skin. It was soothing, Viktor’s thoughtful touch a grounding reminder that he was still thinking of Yuuri, of skating, of pushing him to be better.

“Viktor?” Yuuri mumbled against Viktor’s skin and he answered with a questioning hum. He sounded just as tired as Yuuri felt. “Do you really think I’m ready?” Yuuri asked, feeling that uncomfortable pull of anxiety as it crawled up into his throat. Viktor’s hand stilled and his eyes opened, unfocused and confused. “For the final.”

Viktor shifted, meeting Yuuri’s eye with an intensity that belonged on a movie screen. “You’ve never looked more ready, Yuuri.” Viktor answered, his eyes intent and serious, heavy and burning. “The way you moved on the ice today… I’ve never seen you look the way you did today.”

Yuuri bit his lip, still unsure. His anxiety was a bottomless pit, greedily feeding on doubt— of which Yuuri had far too much. 

"Can I help you forget?" Viktor whispered in that low, sweet voice that made Yuuri shudder. "Would that help,  _ zvezda _ ?" 

Yuuri nodded wordlessly, feeling his pulse climb higher and higher. Viktor moved without hesitation, cupping Yuuri's cheeks and bringing him in for a deep, bruising kiss. Yuuri quaked under Viktor's hands, feeling the weight of his touch deep in his bones. 

"Arms up, love." Viktor directed softly, his mouth moving against Yuuri's. His shirt and hoodie were quickly slipped over his head and tossed off the bed, leaving him bare and shivering. 

"Cold," Yuuri complained, though his cheeks were burning and flushed. Viktor hummed, shooing Makkachin from the bed and hooking his thumbs into his joggers. Yuuri could see the outline of him in those grey sweatpants and  _ god,  _ it never looked any less impressive than it had their first night in Beijing.

“Let me warm you up.” Viktor crooned without an ounce of irony and Yuuri didn’t care, letting himself be moved and shifted in the bed. Yuuri found himself on his back, staring up into Viktor’s summer sky eyes, the blue now a thin ring around dark, dilated pupils. 

Skilled hands worked his sweatpants down over his ass and thighs, leaving him wholly bare to the room. Viktor was on him in a second, bracketing his body with his own and pulling the duvet up over his hips, cocooning them both in warmth. 

“Better?” Viktor asked as he slotted one thigh between Yuuri’s, pressing wet, demanding kisses along the line of his collarbone. “Warmer now?” His breath was hot against Yuuri’s throat, where he was sure Viktor could feel the rabbit-quick pace of his pulse. 

“Yes, better,” Yuuri managed, arching his hips up into Viktor’s, meeting the sculpted lines of his stomach. He whined, the friction building arousal like a gathering tsunami. Viktor held himself in place, letting Yuuri rock against him. Yuuri lost himself in the sensation of it, gripping at Viktor’s shoulders and back; something deep in him savored the way Viktor’s skin looked, marked by his own hands. 

“Gorgeous,” Viktor murmured as Yuuri rutted against him, gasping and flushed. Viktor looked at him with such hunger, such intense attention, Yuuri had to look away, burying his face in Viktor’s shoulder instead. “Go on, love. Chase your pleasure.”

How anyone could string together  _ those _ words and still make Yuuri melt was beyond him by that point. Yuuri’s eyes rolled back, the sensations boiling him down to his most base wants… Viktor’s hands ghosted tenderly over his ribs and he muffled a shout as he neared that edge.

But Viktor pulled away, easily breaking Yuuri’s grasp, leaving him breathless and groaning. He knew he looked shocked, confused. The haze of arousal barely disguised the loss. 

“No, I was… Viktor, I was close.” Yuuri gasped, his cock jumping against his stomach, a bead of precome pearling at the head. 

“I know you were,” Viktor replied, reaching into the nightstand and producing a familiar bottle of lube, now nearly empty. “That’s the point.”

Yuuri laughed, a wild thing that barely sounded like his own voice. “You’re going to torture me?” 

“Torture isn’t the right word.” Viktor chuckled quietly, shaking his head as he added a dollop of lube to his palm to warm it. “Edging, love.”

A chill ran down Yuuri’s spine at the word. “I know what  _ edging  _ is, Vitya.” The attempt to act unaffected was thwarted with a single knowing look from Viktor. “How many?” Yuuri asked, watching Viktor’s smile spread wider, more mischievous. 

“If I told you, that would ruin the experience.” Yuuri shuddered and nodded, much more eager for this than he had expected to be; the dark thoughts were still chasing him, still threatening to pull him under, and he knew that losing himself to Viktor would quiet the voices. At least for the night. 

“Use your colors.” Viktor warned as he nudged Yuuri’s thighs apart, kneeling between them with a hungry grin. Yuuri felt laid out like a feast for him, and he was far from willing to complain about the treatment. Yuuri nodded, swallowing thickly. 

And then he felt Viktor’s hand. Warm, wet friction met his skin and he could barely contain a strangled yelp. His hips leapt off the bed and into Viktor’s hand, making Viktor chuckle and pin him down at the waist. 

“So eager,” Viktor crooned, licking his lips and bending down, taking the head of Yuuri’s cock in his mouth. Yuuri bit down on his lip, forcing the soul-deep whimper back into his throat before he woke the entire inn. Whoever had taught Viktor to suck dick deserved an Olympic medal. Yuuri fought against every horny impulse to keep himself still, but Viktor’s mouth refused to give him respite; insisting he, instead, fuck up into Viktor’s mouth and listen to the surprised sounds he made. 

Yuuri swore he would lose his tether to the ephemeral plane when Viktor pulled off, stroking him with the saliva he had left behind— it was somehow even hotter than he had fantasized in those early years, seeing a wet line of spit still clinging to Viktor’s lower lip. 

“ _ God,” _ Yuuri swore, his head falling back into the pillows as Viktor slowed, letting Yuuri catch his breath and work back from the edge.

“You know, love, just watching you skate is the closest thing to foreplay I can imagine.” Viktor smiled in that far-off way, it made one part of him squirm to think that Viktor enjoyed his skating that way, but another lavished in it. He skated Eros, an encapsulation of erotic love— of course Viktor would like it. “After you skated it in Onsen on Ice... seeing you move that way,  _ god above,  _ Yuuri.”

Yuuri moaned with the praise, feeling his cheeks burn. “Y-yeah?” he asked, craving more of Viktor’s voice, of his touch, of his praise— all of it felt like fire dancing under his skin. 

“If not for the crowd, for the cameras…” Viktor whispered a slurry of Russian that Yuuri could never hope to translate, “I would have taken you in my mouth on the ice.”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide at the thought, Viktor in that nice suit and camel hair coat, on his knees on the ice. A hot pang of arousal struck quick as lightning, igniting in his core with a moan. “ _ Fuck, _ ” Yuuri shivered, gasping as Viktor’s mouth moved from his throat and down the center of his chest, kissing sloppily down the lithe lines of his stomach. “Would you really? S-suck me on the ice?”

Viktor moaned and nodded, mouthing lazily at the base of Yuuri’s cock. “I would. I love how you look in that Eros costume, but god, I’d tear it just to have you then and there.”

A wild moan ripped free from Yuuri’s chest at the thought and he buried his hands in Viktor’s hair, feeling like he might float away without his touch to keep him tethered.

“Love, you need to be quiet,” Viktor chastised softly, the tone of his voice demanding obedience. “I love how you sound… and I’m not too keen on sharing your voice with the rest of the inn.”

Yuuri flushed down to his toes, gasping and twisting under Viktor’s hands. He nodded, only for his restraint to be challenged as Viktor flipped him onto his stomach, pulling his hips up and back. His back arched as if by instinct, presenting to his boyfriend in the neediest way. Viktor’s fingers found him easily, pressing on the tender, fluttering muscle of his hole.

“Open for me, love,” Viktor encouraged, and Yuuri’s chest rattled with a few slow, shallow breaths. “That’s it, let me in.”

His voice was molten silk, expensive honey bourbon, like the bottle he had been given by a date and downed in one night with Phichit. Viktor’s voice  _ did  _ things to him, each word flowing effortlessly into the other. Another kink Yuuri didn’t have until Viktor.

“V-Viktor!” Yuuri choked, smothering his moan with his hands. Viktor knew every way to send him over the edge, and Yuuri could barely withstand it. Viktor’s fingers were hot and demanding inside him, holding him open. Another finger joined the first and Yuuri shuddered at the change.

“Hush, love,” Viktor whispered, and Yuuri pressed his face into Viktor’s pillow, inhaling him as deeply as he could before letting out a bone-deep moan.

Yuuri nearly shouted when Viktor found his prostate, teasing it only to move away. Frustration mounted quickly, only for it to melt away the moment that perfect pressure returned, the hand around his cock resuming its slow, diligent work. Yuuri quickly lost himself in it, fucking forward into the tunnel of Viktor’s hand and back onto the intrusion of his fingers; it was far too easy to let himself work up to the edge once again.

It was just as surprising the third time when Viktor pulled away, leaving him open and messy with lube, barely holding himself up on his hands and knees.

“How much more?” Yuuri asked breathlessly, knowing the answer wouldn’t come that easily. “Vitya, please,” he breathed, wobbling and falling forward into bed with trembling limbs.

Viktor smirked and pressed a long finger to his lips, winking at Yuuri where he was laying. “Trust me, Yuuri. What’s your color?”

“Green,” Yuuri answered honestly, knowing very well he could be pushed much further than this.

“Turn over, love, I want to see how wet you are.” Viktor’s mouth was curved and playful, a lower lip pulled between his teeth. Yuuri nearly lost control at the sight of Viktor looking that way, looking so unabashedly wrecked. He was flushed down to his chest, his forehead glistening with sweat, his forearms shaking.

He was beautiful, and how Yuuri had gotten  _ this _ lucky would never make any sense. Yuuri shivered a moan and turned over onto his back, wincing at the way the bedsheets clung to the nape of his neck— when had he started to sweat? Viktor’s eyes went wide as he took in the surely embarrassing sight of him, a panting shivering mess. 

“God, Yuuri.” Viktor breathed, and Yuuri could only describe that reaction as awed. “So strong and beautiful.”

Yuuri could barely muster a reply before Viktor’s hands were on him again, pulling him apart at the seams. Viktor was relentless, pushing into Yuuri and finding his prostate again and again. One slick hand alternated between his cock and his nipples, plucking one or the other every time Yuuri’s moans began to hitch upward, every time he got closer to the edge. 

“Please!” Yuuri sobbed when Viktor leaned down and pulled one nipple between his teeth, laving at it with a hot, wet tongue. “Vitya!”

Barely more than Viktor’s name came to mind when Yuuri opened his mouth, barely more than that mattered. Everything had been reduced to sensation, to the way Viktor’s touch had him writhing, to the small drip of precome on his lower stomach dripped from the head of his cock.

Yuuri bit back a scream as Viktor's hands fell away again, his orgasm receding over the horizon. He gasped and writhed, his cock heavy and straining where Viktor's hand had just been; his hole felt wet and empty as it clenched on nothing but air.

"V-Viktor," Yuuri panted, tears threatening to spill, "Please, don't stop again. I need it," he was babbling, desperate and nonsensical. “Need you.”

Viktor hummed and dipped down, pressing a searing kiss to Yuuri’s mouth. “I know you do.” Viktor whispered, dancing slick fingers over a pebbled nipple, chasing the flush that bled down from his throat to his ribs. “That need is so strong, isn’t it? It has you breathless and desperate…”

Yuuri whined, underscoring the flaring heat in Viktor’s voice as he slicked himself up with one hand. Viktor hissed at the cool touch of lube; his cock was drooling and red, throbbing with his heartbeat. 

“You’ll get what you need, love,” Viktor moaned as he rocked into his own fist, watching Yuuri’s features twist up with pleasure as he pulled at his nipple with his free hand. “I’ll give you what you need.” Yuuri’s chest heaved as he felt Viktor lining up, the velvety heat of his cock pressing into the cleft of his ass. 

Yuuri smothered a wet, strangled moan with his own hand as Viktor pushed into him, spreading him open in that perfect way. Viktor swore under his breath, rocking in slowly, inch by torturous inch. Heaving, wet breaths huffed against Viktor’s shoulder as he opened Yuuri with his cock, his rim stretched around Viktor’s length, burning in that painfully pleasant way. 

“Please, more,” Yuuri panted, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. “In me, now, Vitya. Please-” he could feel his throat tightening around the request, the night’s sensations finally gaining on him. The first tear slid down his cheek as Viktor’s hips met his own, all of him sheathed perfectly inside. 

“Oh,  _ Yuuri, _ ” Viktor moaned, his long lashes fluttering as his eyes rolled back. “You’re incredible, perfect,  _ god _ -” he began rocking in and out slowly, letting Yuuri’s tears run freely. “You work so hard, and you look so gorgeous on the ice, I’m so proud to be yours.”

A wet sob wrung itself from Yuuri’s throat and he bore down on Viktor’s cock, savoring the sensation and the sound of his voice; all of it washed over him with the weight of a tidal wave, punching the breath from his chest, shocking him to life. 

“Mine,” Yuuri choked out, wrapping his arms around Viktor’s shoulders and clinging with every ounce of strength remaining, kissing the sweat-damp line of Viktor’s throat. He could feel his heart beating there, pounding and loud against Yuuri’s lips. “You’re mine.”

“Yours, Yuuri, all yours.” Viktor moaned, his pace quickening. “I won’t stop this time, I want you to come with me, love.”

Yuuri sobbed again, the permission itself threatened to unravel him completely. “I— I’m close,” Yuuri managed through a tight throat, and Viktor nodded against him. The wet sound of skin on skin nearly drowned out Viktor’s moaned warning before he was spilling, fucking messily into Yuuri as he came.

It took the barely whispered direction from Viktor to “ _ Come, Yuuri,” _ and he fell over the edge, jolting to the end like he had been struck by lightning. Suddenly and all at once he was screaming into Viktor’s throat, his body convulsing and shaking with it. Viktor fucked him with jittering, half-aborted strokes, working him through it as Yuuri painted his own stomach and chest with wet ropes of spend. He felt flayed open, raw and too tender, wrung out and spent completely. 

The comedown was slow as Viktor withdrew and returned with a damp washcloth— Yuuri was grateful that he had at least pulled on a pair of joggers before running out into the hall.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but soon, he was clean and wrapped in Viktor’s arms again. “That was incredible, Yuuri.” Viktor murmured softly, pulling the blankets up around them both, coaxing Yuuri into his arms. “You did so well.”

Yuuri sighed softly, letting Viktor move him. He felt boneless and limp, a ragdoll manipulated by someone else’s touch. “Thank you, Vitya,” he hummed into Viktor’s chest, “Thank you for helping me.”

“Thank  _ you _ for letting me catch you sneaking out.” Viktor answered, running his fingers through Yuuri’s hair and he melted with the touch. “I’m glad I could help.” The playful tone, the touch, was a warm weight on Yuuri’s chest, the soft tone of Viktor’s wrapping him tightly in confidence, dispelling the anxiety, even just for the night.

Somewhere in the inn, a clock chimed and Viktor sighed happily. “It’s midnight.” he remarked fondly, pressing in closer and pulling Yuuri in tighter. “I’m not done celebrating you, though. Can your birthday last another few days?”

Yuuri laughed tiredly, rolling his eyes. “Isn’t one day enough?”

“Nope, not by far.” Viktor teased, snaking playful fingers under Yuuri’s soft sleep shirt and tickling his ribcage. “I’ll celebrate you as long as I’d like.”

“Viktor…” Yuuri laughed, pushing away the tickling touch and sinking deeper into the bed, where the scent of Viktor’s shampoo and cologne was heavy and comforting. Viktor laughed and pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead.

“I love you, Yuuri.” Viktor whispered, wrapping a long arm around his waist. 

“I love you too.” Yuuri answered without a second thought. They had never said it. Not with words. Not so explicitly as that. They had said it through their skating, through touch, through everything other than the words. But once they said it, neither one of them stopped.

It was what Viktor whispered in his ear as he pushed off from the edge for his free in Barcelona, it was what his smile said loud and clear as Yuuri landed his quadruple flip. It was what his arms around him screamed when he took silver, when he broke Viktor’s record. 

“I don’t want to retire.” Yuuri said, holding that round, silver weight in his hands. “I don’t want to stop.”

Viktor’s smile was conspiratorial, challenging, playful. “Good. I wouldn’t want to compete against anyone else.”

Yuuri choked on a wet sob and threw himself into Viktor’s arms. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Yuuri.” Viktor answered breathlessly, clinging to Yuuri’s jacket and holding him closer than he ever had before.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! comments fuel me 👉👈
> 
> ❤️ ia  
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